Chihuahuas are Annoying
by Plunderer01
Summary: A new, high-profile addition arrives at the Museum - much to the dismay of a certain prominent exhibit. Oh yeah, and everyone else .
1. Fun Times

Authors' note: This fic addresses a little, minor "what-if" scenario I've had in my head for quite some time.  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything that has to do with Night at the Museum, ya hear?

*****

The phone screamed, causing the nearby occupant of the desk to flinch. Grumbling, he nasally answered.

"Hello? Yes, this is- What? Honestly? They're done? That's fantast-" His mood immediately changed.

A tinny buzz could be heard echoing throughout the old, somewhat dusty office, cutting off the speaker.

"Yes, yes, naturally….Very rare…the originals? My, how far technology has come…So, the display could be assembled within the day?"

An excited onslaught cut him off yet again.

"Right, I understand. We can close for the day. Consider it done. No, thank _you_…"

Terminating the call, Dr. McPhee leapt to his feet, ecstatic. "Yesss!" He hissed to himself, enthusiastically pumping his arm high in the air. Although his total lack of hand-eye coordination made it appear as though he was seizing whilst imitating a rapidly deflating truck tire, he hardly cared. He bolted down the hall to tell Rebecca the news.

*****

Despite the recent upswing in museum attendance, Dr. McPhee, as a rule, was always on the constant lookout for new finds, new discoveries, and new inter-museum loans. When he first started as a curator, he was surprised (and somewhat amused) to learn of the dog-eat-dog, cutthroat competition that dominated the acquisition of exhibits and artifacts between institutions. Naturally, the Smithsonian held the monopoly on most new offers, but some universities and prominent individuals (_like that one donor…who was he? She?_) had their preferences and sentiments for smaller establishments.

Not that the New York Museum of Natural History was a _small_ establishment, but it did frequently play second-fiddle to the 'Big S' (_Daley…so annoying sometimes…_). Of course, there were, are, and will continue to be exceptions; the tomb contents and mummy of Ahkmenrah was not to be sneezed at, and many tempting offers over the years have been made by other museums to both McPhee and his predecessors for an exchange. He had always refused, not on sentimental or even pragmatic reasons, but because of an unspoken rule that had maintained itself for almost 50 years within the institution: _Never let go of your best_. The Ahkmenrah exhibit would never leave, and if it ever did, it wouldn't be under McPhee's watch. The same rule he subconsciously applied to the Tyrannosaur and Roosevelt.

But this! This would overshadow everything – at least, for awhile and then mainly for children. It would be amazing to see it with animatronics; after all, the current exhibits were retrofitted quite successfully, and there was no reason this couldn't be, either.

*****

Rebecca nodded tightly at Larry's disbelief.

"Whhhaaat?? He's bringing in whhhhhaaat?" He was beyond stunned, and more than a little pale.

"Yes." She responded in a voice bordering on frantic. "But what could I tell him? 'No Dr. McPhee, that exhibit would be bad because all this stuff isn't really animatronic, it just comes to life at night and can't really be controlled?' There's nothing we can do – except hope for the best."

"If I live that long. Or hell, if the guests do."

She sighed. "Look, Larry, we have three days before the crew arrives to assemble the display. Surely we can think of something."

"God, I hope so."


	2. Hats are important

Larry Daley cringed at the high-pitched screech emanating from the shaking wooden crate. (A screech that, no doubt, could roughly be translated as "DIE, DIE, DIE, DIE, AND DIE SOME MORE PLEASE THANK YOU!") He yelled an incoherent, vaguely menacing explicative in its general direction. The rattling promptly stopped, although muffled, angry snarls were still audible. Larry exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

And for the third time tonight, he cursed the name of Dr. R. McPhee.

He and Rebecca, as it turned out, didn't have three days to think of something; they had about half of _one_, due to McPhee's unfortunate desire for urgency. Larry managed to buy some time and save their skin by convincing the anxious curator into allowing it to remain 'safe' in the shipping crate. However, this was the very situation in which Larry could lay claim to an unusually consummate amount of foresight – it was well-known that his anonymous donation had strings attached, but keeping the museum the same was not the only demand expressed to the Board. The specifics therein stipulated that the night guard in current employ be the one to install, assemble, and prepare all exhibitions intended for evening viewing by the general public. This restriction would inevitably offer protection for the inhabitants of the museum – any night guard that decided to stay on after exposure to the establishment's shocking reality would have a high probability of being a trustworthy caretaker, past incidences aside.

Of course, technical knowledge of electronics or mechanics wasn't really needed, but the time required to acquaint and establish new inhabitants was crucial. So therefore, it was logical only an individual in Larry's position had the capability of achieving that goal.

It was 'quite brilliant' as Teddy had ardently put it, and Larry was rather proud of himself for thinking that far ahead. And he was even gladder that his new-found authority allowed him to prevent a potential massacre.

Teddy cocked his rifle nervously and glanced down at Larry. "Lawrence?" He prompted. "How will we ever get this to work?"

Both Texas and Larry simultaneously flinched at a new, more piercing shriek. "I- I don't know Teddy. I can't even talk to him. I don't think anybody here can."

"But we must! It cannot very well be locked up indefinitely! Dr. McPhee is expecting this…thing….to be ready by tomorrow night!"

"I know, I know!" He sighed. "I mean, I can try and tell McPhee that there's some kind of electrical problem, but that won't work for more than one night- otherwise, he'll try to get an outsider in here to fix it! And we can't allow that to happen. If it does, then our cover is blown. We have to get this fixed tonight." He looked up at the crate determinedly.

Suddenly the rattling intensified, and a black, sickle shaped object splintered through the front of the crate and rapidly withdrew, tearing out a huge, ragged section of wood. Screaming like a schoolgirl and dropping his clipboard in fright, Larry quickly mounted a spooked Texas and the three fled in terror.

*******

Jedediah was bored.

He didn't feel like pursuing his usual Manifest Destiny, nor was he interested in entertaining Rexy with the car. Heck, even fighting with Octavius didn't sound appealing, and pissing off the Roman was by far the most amusing of Jed's pastimes. He sat on the side of the Western exhibit, legs dangling off of the edge, backs of his boots carelessly striking its sheer front. _Nuthin' to do…_

The creepy, howling shriek that echoed through the hall made him start so violently that his hat fell off and did a swan dive off of the edge of the Wild West. "Dadgum it!" he yelled, irately. "That was m' best hat! What th' blazes _was_ that racket?"

"Firstly, that was your _only_ hat, and secondly, I do believe that was our new … 'colleague' causing the commotion." Octavius sauntered over to his friend and offered his hand. Jed snorted in irritation and accepted, hauling himself up.

"Who is 'e, anyhow?" The cowboy inquired. The Roman shrugged. "I do know he came in earlier this day, but I know not any further details."

Jedediah grinned slyly and glanced at the general. "Then let's find out." Octavius looked incredulous.

"And get m' hat."


	3. The Terrible Claw

Through years of practice, Larry had mastered the ancient art of rolling neatly off of a galloping undead horse. Well, not so much neatly as less likely to break quite as many bones as he would have previously. _Which is really saying a lot for this place…_He quickly rose to his feet, and absentmindedly dusted his jacket sleeves off.

Teddy had obliged him at his request to slow down somewhat near the Hall of Miniatures, although he most certainly surprised the president with his dismount. Larry didn't have time to explain, but he did have just enough time to try and protect those he deemed the most vulnerable to damage. He rushed into the small rotunda, and was promptly struck in the foot by a speeding remote controlled Hummer. The guard bent down, and lifted it up.

Octavius and Jedediah were more than a little surprised at the action, but waved cordially.

"Howdy!"

"Greetings, my liege."

Larry blinked. "Um, what are you guys doing out here?"

Jed cocked his head to the side, perplexed. "What do y' mean, 'what are we doin' out here' Gigantor? We's out like this almost e'ry night!"

Octavius, sensing a deeper underlying issue, piped up.

"Larry, what is the matter?"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry guys, but not tonight. It's just too dangerous right now. I'm gonna have to-"

Jed's eyes widened. "No!"

"I'm sorry Jed..."

"Ya wouldn't!"

"I would!"

"Ya wouldn't!"

"I would!"

"Ya wouldn't!"

"Yes, I would, and I just did!" Larry set the car down in the Wild West diorama.

Jed and Octavius instantly sprung out of the vehicle, rushing for the opening, but the guard quickly slammed the glass gate shut. Octavius stopped, digging his sandaled heels into the ground, but the cowboy slammed the glass with his tiny body. "Damn you Gigantor! Ah don't like bein' locked up!" He howled.

The Roman sighed, and sat down on a nearby fake rock. "Calm down, Jedediah."

"No! Ah won't calm down! He done locked us up!"

Octavius was loosing his patience. "My friend, Larry clearly did this out of concern! He's never done this before. Think rationally man!"

Not listening, Jedediah slammed into the gate again, this time more franticly. "Ah don't like being trapped b'hind glass!" The shrillness of his voice indicated to the General that Jed wasn't thinking rationally, and it disturbed him. He tried a different approach.

"Let's escape."

The Westerner looked up. "How?"

Octavius relaxed as his friend's tone returned to normal. He smiled. "The mighty Roman Empire has been….busy."

*******

The little toy Corvette sped through the back halls of the museum at breakneck speed. Well, not really, but when you're three inches tall, 4 miles an hour is pretty damn fast.

"Wooo-hoo!" Jed hollered in glee.

"Octy, you're a flippin' genius! How'da do it?"

"Well, since it appeared as though our peoples were no longer fighting, I ordered my army to do something productive. Namely, to build a secret tunnel for the glory of Rome!" At that, he gazed off dramatically towards the middle distance.

"Erm.."

******

Another loud screech, much closer than before, caused Larry to shiver. With the help of Sacagawea, Teddy was busy rounding up the rest of the museum inhabitants into the safer storage closets on the third floor. With the sole exceptions of the Maori head and Rexy, he was alone in the main reception. Rexy lowered his head and wagged his tail vigorously. The Tyrannosaur couldn't understand why everyone was gone, but he did understand that nobody was throwing his bone. He plucked off a rib and tossed it expectantly in front of the frightened guard. "Not now, Rexy!" he hissed.

_Clickity clack._

Rexy's head snapped up. He growled in the direction of the sound.

****

The Corvette stopped near the loading dock. "Why are we here?"

"I dunno, Octy. Since ol' Gigantor didn't see fit ta' tell us what's goin' on, then we should find out fer ourselves."

"Why the loading dock, though?"

"I reckon since new things are shipped here, and so there must be like a shippin' label or somethin'…"

Octavius was impressed. "That's surprisingly astute of you, Jedediah."

The cowboy turned abruptly. "Yew callin' me dumb, toga-boy?" The General rolled his eyes. "No, I – wait…isn't that Larry's clipboard?"

"I'd guess so…"

The pair ran over to the clipboard, its many papers scattered about. "Man, this is a gonna take furever!"

Octavius frowned. "Wait, this new exhibit arrived today, correct?" Jed nodded. "Then let us look for a paper dated for today."

"Good idear."

It only took moments before the Roman triumphantly held up the correct shipping form. "Aha! Now we shall get to the bottom of this madness!" Jed snatched the paper away. "Lemme try!" Octavius glared at him, seriously considering smacking him on the back of the head. With a spear.

"Hell, this ain't in English!"

"How do you mean?"

"Under 'Exhibit Name' its says summin' in a weird language!"

"What?"

"Well, Ah dunno! Somethin' like…'Deeneo…nicher…uschussus'…."

"What? That's not right! Let me see!" Octavius snatched the paper back. His eyes widened.

"Why, this is Greek!"

"What's it mean?"

Octavius narrowed his eyes. "Huh. 'Terrible claw'. It says 'Terrible claw'."

"Terr'uble claw?"

"Yes_. Deinonychus_."


End file.
